Dreamworld: Advent

Dreamworld: Advent is a work in progess story set in the Dreamworld universe.

Prolouge
On a cold world, on the brink of death, lie battlers who fight for the planet and it's universe.

One such fighter, Amarante, a lonely individual, who would fight tooth and nail for her loved ones, but would care less about those mysterious to her: those strangers. Although she is of them, she so despises them, but such is her way. She's on a never-ending quest to find her brother. The lone she placed all her trust in, save one, save a dead one.

Arianna, on the other hand would help all those around her, a shining light in the bleak darkness that is life. She could appear cold at times, and ignorant at others, but she was young, she was allowed those mistakes. She's on a journey to find her husband, who had twice been taken from her.

Jaime, the daughter of Ari and her husband, searches for the hole in her heart that is the father shape. Shy, but kind, and headstrong to match.

All three are but pawns moving an Eclipse closer to completion.

All three are part of the Dream Warriors.

After the beginning, before the end, between the Eclipse's line.

This is their story...

Chapter I: Three women
“How many evil asses can there be out there?” Sighed Arianna heavily, exhausted from the many battles before.

“Obviously a lot.” Said Amarante bluntly. “We have nearly a million galaxies here, 90 percent of them have life. There's bound to be a few million bad eggs out of a trillion trillion.”

“You don't have to be so hard about it, though.” Said redhead Ari quietly, almost under her breath.

“Look. We have to focus on finding Mark and avoiding the Prophet. We can't really afford to fight him, as well as all these creatures.” Said Amarante, the raven haired knight.

“I hate the Prophet! And I don't normally hate anybody! At all!” Said red, as her blue eyes raged.

“I know, I know... He'll pay for making us lose Mark twice.” Said black, as her brown eyes intensified.

But what of Jaime, the blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter? Did she have anything to add?

“I just miss daddy...” Said Jaime Kinxx, her 15-year-old mind wrapping around the missing.

“Hon...” Her elder mother whispered.

“Don't worry Jaime, we'll make sure to find daddy, then you don't have to miss him so much.” Said the aunt of young Jaime.

The 22-year-old Arianna, somehow, and the 29-year-old Amarante were lost on what to do. They just decided pressing forward and did so.

It was 2003 in their universe, mirroring ours exactly. But time acted differently here, things did not proceed as humans can comprehend. Instead, time chose what IT to do, mortals be damned.

“I'm tired of searching...” Said the daughter Jaime, resting on her knees behind Ari and Amarante.

“The more time we waste resting, the less time we'll have with Mark.” Said Amarante, turning and nodding to Jaime.

Ari had stopped as well.

“Hon, I know you're tired, but we finally lost the Prophet. We don't want him on our tails.” She said.

Amarante looked back at her and frowned.

“After I find Mark, I'll kill that bastard...” She cursed under her breath.

The three continued on, searching their homeworld for signs of their family. They had searched seventy nearby planets, but a scratch on the surface of the tip of the iceberg in the vast wastelands of space. They continued on, however. Steadfast, and true.

Another day pass, another week gone. Another month pass, another year gone. Searching and searching the far and wide. They had been at it for five years already, and had no plans on stopping in the next five. They were largely immortal, what did it matter? Their “Mark” was even closer to the cusp of the gods. Surely, he had to be alive, right?

“A tu, vat tu, erru, aluu.” Sang Jaime as they walked, an old Dreamworldian nursery rhyme. It reminded Amarante and Arianna of the Ancient Times: the period before the Fifth Age.

“Po ma, doma, la la, goma...” Continued Ari as she paused and waited for Amarante to pipe in.

She didn't.

“I'm not singing along to that crap.” She said. “I'm an adult, I don't need nursery rhymes anymore.”

True, but she didn't have to be so grumpy about it.


 * They're all dead.* Said Amarante's voice in her own head. *The Prophet killed all the Dream Warriors besides us... Picked them off, one by one, just like a crow. Malicious. Meticulous. Relentless. Systematic. Like it was easy to him as breathing. They tried, yeah, but for most the task was impassable. Tre put up a fight, but the Prophet killed him with ease. His own cousin, Hikago, turned on him and nearly cut his power down drastically, but he failed. Jon gave the last stand, a battle which nearly rid us of the Prophet once and for all. Yet, he still somehow survived. We left with his mother and hid. Two weeks later, we found her headless body in a sewer drain. A horrible death and an even worse omen. The Prophet is still alive and he will stop at absolutely nothing until all who are threats to him are dead. Makes even me kinda worry. Wait, did I just worry? Nah, must've been a passing thought.*

The three searched more worlds before finding survivors and helping them. Almost is if they were trying to convince the universe a possible rebellion stood. Maybe all those people believing, hoping, would help them in the long run.

Soon after, they had returned to their native planet, Dreamworld, the jewel in the crown of the Jabari universe. They had come home to their impromptu headquarters: a lone shack deep within the Mystic Forest. Perhaps the magic could hide them from the Prophet. But not for long. Nothing stays hidden from the Prophet. Nothing.

“Man, this is insane. We don't even have a clue where to begin looking for him. So far, we've been searching at random.” Said Amarante, hoping a clue would appear from midair. It did not. She was disappointed.

“We don't even know from what direction he left Dreamworld.” Said Jaime.

“Wouldn't matter. While the planet is in orbit and space is a vacuum, directions don't exist.” Said the Kinxx sister.

“The Manaks are blessed. Maybe they would know.” Inputted Ari.

“Already tried that, sis.” Said Amarante quickly, shooting down all opinion from her in-law.

“Damn it. There has to be SOMETHING...” Said Ari, almost whining.

The three once more kept searching from planet to planet, galaxy to galaxy and cluster to cluster, hoping to find some trace of their long lost Mark Kinxx, who had been forgotten by time.

The planet had been around for 960 billion years, and in all those eons, events had transpired, too many to mention and not enough time.

It was odd, she walked to find her brother, her hero. The one who destroyed those who stole her innocence. Those who dare harm her. The first she could truly trust. She remembers the life he saved her from: assassins, death, betrayal. No more would she kill to eat, no more would she dare let any beat her, rape her or do whatever they wanted.

Ari had lost her husband, her lover, her betrothed.

Jaime had lost her father.

But many more will lose so MUCH more...

Releated articles: Arianna Kinxx, Amarante Kinxx, Mark Kinxx, Ancient Times

Chapter II: A Demon's mistake
“Versarune's rebellion has gone too far.” He simply stated, his painted face staring out his new castle window. “Eliminate them.”

“But what of the children?”

“Kill them all. Send a message that rebellion will not stand.”

“...Yes, sir.”

The Prophet looked out onto the blighted land and tilted his head to the side, his right side, as he was known to do. He limped over to his throne and sat upon it. Why did he limp? It is said that the devil walks with a limp in his right leg. But this was not the devil from so many legends, so many books. This was the Demon, the Angel of Death in the Jabari universe. He stood for evil everywhere, as he was evil everywhere. Anytime someone killed or took advantage, did something against God or man, he was there. Fell from Paradise-Jabari, the heaven of Jabari, just as Lucifer did before him.

This was indeed the Prophet, a lone man, with pure red eyes and long red dreadlocks with white face paint on and black paint in reverse triangles below his eyes; his eyes, nose and lips were covered in black paint as well; his chin had an upside down cross painted on it. He looked to the right and over to the left to his personal guards, the Ten Thousand Fists. Ten thousand men shrouded in black cloaks, with numbers on the brims of their hoods, each signifying their rank. The lower the number, the better their rank.

“Have any new humans come to Dreamworld?” The demon asked.

“No sir, the last humans came shortly before your takeover of the planet.”

“Excellent.”

“Oh... Wait...” The numbered man said.

“What?” Asked the Prophet with his anger growing.

“There is news that an uncoded human just landed in Simba Town. Some of the residents used the Scythe to save her.”

“Her? They used the Scythe to save a human female?”

“Yes... I was just as confused when I heard it, so I sent another Fist to check it out. It's true.”

“Huh...”

“There's also the matter of Ezekiel. He is back.”

The Prophet's eyes widened and a short shudder hit his lungs. If he had no face paint, his face would be pale.

“...M-Master?”

No response.

“Master?”

He shook himself out of his shock coma and turned to face his general.

“I will handle Ezekiel. You take care of the human. Send #4000 to eliminate her and all who aided her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ezekiel... I had a dream about him last night.”

“I didn't know you could have dreams...”

“Neither did I...”

Chapter III: A human impact
She groaned, as was expected after crash landing on a stranger planet. Her head was killing her; she clenched her eyes in response. She sat up, feeling the dirt beneath her.

She realized she was not in Pakistan anymore, or at least nowhere in that country that she's been. She tried to stand and went face first into the dirt. She lifted herself up and sat once more.

Circa Kin Zalza, a 5’8”, 192-pound medium-built Pakistani native who was a moderate bit over the skinny side, but nowhere near the deathly obese size. Her skin was mahogany; her eyes and hair were auburn, both seemed to match. Her skin was soft as an angel and carried few, if any, blemishes. Her right eye was slightly damaged at the top, leaving a flap folded. She had curves where there should be curves and she knew how to use them. She had her breasts held only by a bra, which was on its last strand. Her measurements were 44DD-40-44. Her hair went down to the middle of her lower back and had that wet, untamed look until the last three inches or so, where it would be spread apart. Some of her bangs went out in front of her and rested on her chest. A few strands of hair that were gathered together fell over the middle of her forehead and down her to neck, almost a straight line dividing her face. Her lips were moist and natural, no makeup at all anywhere, with the exception of black eyeliner to bring out the sparkles in her eyes.

She looked over and seen a small boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, as well as a fair complexion, a rare sight in the sea of “brown” in Pakistan. She was taken aback but smiled nonetheless. She asked the boy's name in Urdu, to no response. Then in Punjabi and once more the boy stood motionless. She sighed and cleared her throat.

“What is your name?” She asked.

“Name! My name! My name! It's Akos!” He shouted out, excited like the 10-year-old boy he was.

Circa raised her eyebrows, slightly shocked.

“I am Circa. Do you know where we are right now?”

“Yes! We are in Simba Town!”

Circa misheard him.

“Simbaton? Where is that?” She spoke softly.

“I'm not sure... So, why are you brown?”

Circa was significantly taken aback.

“Uh...” Was all that came out of her mouth.

Where could she be? She was sure it was not Pakistan anymore. Somewhere more north, with more Caucasians, with ANY Caucasians.

She finally stood and groaned as her back and ribs now ached. Akos smiled excitedly and began to run around imitating a plane. She smiled once more and was not as worried.

“Can you take me to your parents house?” She asked. “I need some help.”

Akos stopped and nodded, then began walking into the quaint village, with no concrete roads, just dark dirt. Lanterns instead of electricity. A city that had fallen behind the times.

“My mom died two years ago, she was sick and the Bad Man said she had to go away, otherwise she would inf-in-in... The whole town.”

“Infect?”

“YEAH! That's the one!”

“Who is this 'Bad Man?'“

“I dunno, my dad said not to talk about him. Maybe he can tell you more. So, where are you fro-?”

He could not finish his sentence, as a Fist: #9999, the lowest ranking, stood at the city gates, which were now closed. Circa instinctively stood in front of Akos, as if to guard him. She could feel something was very, very wrong about this man. If he could be called a man anymore.

“Akos... What did the Prophet tell you about going out after curfew? Three strikes and you're out.”

“But-but-but...” He stumbled out.

“No buts... This is your third strike.”

“Maybe...” Circa began, shocking the Fist.

“No maybes... You do not even belong here human. What is your code?”

“Code?”

“All humans who come to Dreamworld are coded, to ensure who they are and what they're doing here.”

“Dreamworld? Are you insane?”

“No. You're on Dreamworld. See that blue thing in the sky? That's the Earth. It's just behind you.”

Circa scoffed and turned to face what she surely believed would be the moon. And she was surely surprised. She did indeed see the Earth. Her eyes widened and she shut them tightly, as if trying to wake up from some horrible dream.

“Now, what I was saying was that, let me take him back to his dad and I'll take the consequences. What is the penalty for a first strike?”

“For a human? Death.”

“De-” She couldn't even finish her sentence. She must've been hallucinating or dreaming. She did have a moderate amount of schizophrenia, which had always been made worse by her daily beatings in her household by her even worse father.

“I'm taking him home. Now move, or I'll move you.” She threatened. The Fist was none too impressed.

“Make me. Human.”

Now, Circa, thinking was complete fantasy, dove forward and connected with a fist to the Fist's face. No effect. She turned it around with a swift kick to the crotch, a move that would down any man, strong or not.

“You bitch!” He cursed as Circa shook her head.

“Akos, go to your dad's house. As fast as you can.”

Akos nodded and began to run but was caught by the Fist who tripped him up and attempted to pin him to the ground. Circa responded by a kick to the right side of his neck. He fell over a bit and turned, hitting Circa with a punch, which knocked her to the ground.

It wasn't so much pain, as shock. It was not supposed to hurt. This was a dream or a vivid hallucination. Why did it hurt? Why? She couldn't think of it now. She stood to her feet quickly, wiping the blood from the left side of her chin, her lip already swelling. She took another shot at #9999, who in turn grabbed some firewood and broke some off. Within a fraction of a moment, a considerable size of wood impaled Circa, right through her stomach. She screamed in pain, fully realizing that this was reality. She could not focus on how at the moment. She more focused on Akos and tried to stand, all to no avail. She was feeling sleepy. It was hard to ignore the pain. She kept pushing and trying to get to her feet.

It was all in a flash. An older man, looking to be in his mid-30s ran with a large Scythe towards the Fist. Circa wanted to stay awake, she wanted to see, her human curiosity kept her up. She watched as the Scythe ripped through the Fist and left nothing but ash and the cloak. The numbers on the brim had disappeared, proving him to be nobody after all.

The old man that helped looked to Akos and hugged him, suggesting that he was Akos' father. Circa tried to listen to them, but her hearing was fading, as was she. Their lips moved but no words formed. She finally fell asleep.

TWO DAYS LATER

Circa awoke in a shanty hospital, full of outdated equipment and crude surgery items. She shook herself awake just as the doctor, Akos and Akos’ father entered.

“You’re very lucky, human!” Said the flamboyant doctor, donning pink scrubs and a fake gold tiara in his hair. Circa was, needless to say, shocked. She became even more taken aback when he removed his mask and cap and his Elfish ears popped out, causing Circa to let a “Whoa!” slip, as unintentional as it may have been.

“Sorry…” She sheepishly said, embarrassed. “I, uh… Just got here, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“Well, at any rate, the wood pierced no vital organs and actually only hit fat…” He said aloud, then proceeded to whisper: “There was a lot of it…”

“What?” Circa questioned.

“What?” Said the doctor, making sure that she would not learn the truth about what was said on this day. “Well, you’ll be fine in a couple of hours.” He then left the room, leaving behind Akos and his alleged father to talk to Circa.

“So, I guess I should thank you. What was that you destroyed him with?” She inquired.

“It was what we call a Soul Scythe. A mystical item bestowed upon the mortals of Dreamworld to destroy any Fist upon impact. It was given to each of the Twenty Four Provinces and can only be used once.”

“Fists?”

“The Bad Man!” Akos interjected. “The one who my daddy warned me about.”

“Yes, son. The Prophet has his personal army, ten thousand soldiers, each more powerful than the last. The Soul Scythe is given to us to combat them. We killed the lowest ranking with it.”

“You…. You killed the lowest ranking with your only Scythe just to save me? But, and forgive me if I sound ungrateful, but why?”

“You stood up to the Fists, when not even a Dreamworldian did before. And if you choose to leave our planet for your Earth, then I will go to my grave proud that I saved the woman who tried to save my son…”

“I… I can go home?” Was all she asked.

It was all she could focus on. Sure, this planet had its problems and so did home, but home was… Home. She wanted to be back there, with her family and her friends.

“Maybe…” Akos’ father began. “Maybe you can destroy the Prophet and free us once and for all….”

“Whoa, what?” She asked, doing a double take. “I could barely hold my own against the lowest ranking Fist, what chance do I have against this ‘Prophet’ guy?”

“There is a legend in our land that a lowly warrior will train among the best and destroy the Prophet, when he least expects it. The lowly warrior will be trained by the Four of Fate: Amarante, the sister of the great Mark Kinxx; Arianna, first wife and lover of Mark; An unknown soldier from the distant past and the Emperor of Dreamworld: Xavier Adair Kingsman.”

“Well, this is great and all, but I’m really thinking of going home… What is your name, if you don’t mind me asking? I’d really like to know the man who saved my life.”

There was silence for a bit, almost as if he expected her to say yes and was greatly disappointed.

“Maghren. Well, it was nice to see another human here… I’m sure you can escape before the Prophet notices you’re here anyway… I hope your life is good, Circa.”

“Thanks. It will be now. I’ll just think of you and Akos and everything will be alright.”

He nodded and couldn’t help but smile. Circa rested for a few more hours before leaving the hospital and walking not to far into the desert with Akos and his father before coming upon a homemade space craft, a shaky coffin, essentially that you would not want to ride in a sub-zero vaccum with. She sighed heavily and was just about to enter the craft before explosions made #4000 a grand entrance. He lifted his left hand a white hot ball of flame hit the "space" craft and destoryed it, knocking out the three standing near it.

But when he went closer, he could only see Akos and his father. Looking in the distance, he seen a man in a dirty robe, walking barefoot with Circa over his shoulder. He chose not to pursue.